Together, they climbed over the rail and fell to the raging waters below. Mukat hit first, the sudden quiet below the surface a sharp contrast to the world above. Kicking strongly, he propelled himself unerringly toward the shore. Many tribes he knew could not swim, but the Cahuilla had always been fortunate to live close to the inland sea. That was why, occasionally, they enjoyed venturing down the wide tributary that led to the great, endless sea, the place where huge ships sailed.
Today had been a mix of victories and defeat, good signs and dark omens. Today had been unpredictable in the extreme. But tomorrow would bring great fortune.
Mukat swam hard until he saw the sea bottom beginning to rise. His breath gave out just as he broke surface, into a debilitating sensory assault of stunning visions and terrible noise. Waves battered him, taking control of even his powerful body. Thunder roared down at him as if from a vast, many-toothed mouth. Lightning pierced the skies, forking down and splashing against the seas. A jagged point hit close to him, blinding his vision. Mukat threw himself toward the shore, fighting as if with a black bear or vicious coyote. The cruel creature wrapped him in liquid arms, dragging him down and then out to darker depths, but Mukat fought with all his heart and soul, still able to see the shore and safety. Tooth and nail he struggled, gradually losing his fight with the formidable beast. His strength was waning, the trial too much. He would now pay the price for leading his people into folly. Knowing that he had lost he began to relax his limbs, already accepting.
Hands and fingers gripped his arms, his clothing, even his hair. They pulled. He went with them, sucked from the very maw of the beast. His people had waded in to save him, beset by the waves and the winds but still eager to help. The Cahuilla were a family and they would prevail. Right then, he knew his people would never die, their names never be forgotten.
Mukat lay panting on the beach, men sat at his side, drenched and spent, his companion from the ship similarly worn out. The storm raged at them and did not relent that night, a spectacle to behold, a fury that would live in their minds forever. Before first light painted the horizon the mighty ship began to list, to heave and swell, and then broke from its moorings, drifting off into the eye of the storm. Mukat did not see where it went and had long since lost all desire to. The gods had spoken.
Leave it be.
Mukat would never again dare defy the gods as long as he lived.
CHAPTER ONE
Matt Drake woke and instantly wondered why he was alone. His first thought: Mai? was an early morning constant of late, and then he remembered…
Oh aye, she’s in Japan, I think…
And the world slipped back into place. He was alone once more and even if Mai Kitano returned today, forgiven and free, a figure of pure absolution, he doubted that he could ever go back. Their time was over — of that he was sure — but he would still welcome her as an ally. They had worked that way before, many times. If Drake had changed since the death of his closest friends it was only because he could be more resolute, more caring, and less vocal about it. Promises were nothing when compared to real action.
Drake sat up in bed, eyeing the espresso machine as if it were a lifeline. The blackout curtains were useful but he could still see light bleeding around the edges, which meant the morning was marching on. He scooted over the bed and inserted a fresh pod into the machine, placed a cup under the dispenser and waited for the coffee to pour. Hot and black it was ready in seconds. He sipped at it, still reviewing his new place in the world and the events that had led him here.
If there was ever an Englishman who deserved to be called a man of action it was Matt Drake. At the same time he would hear none of it, beyond the less-than-gentle ribbing offered up by his teammates. Drake had been forced at an early age to take charge of his life and continued to adhere to that pattern — no matter which megalomaniac tried to disrupt it. At the head of it all was the loyalty he felt towards his friends.
And the agony shared by all when one of their number died.
Komodo’s funeral had been surreal, an odd kind of nightmare. The one good thing about it was that it had passed without incident. Karin, inconsolable, distressed beyond measure, quantified it in a single, succinct sentence.
“If my life is the sum of those I most love then it is now over.”
The team had tried to console her, but Karin had lost her parents, her brother, and her boyfriend in a matter of months. Drake knew from experience that time didn’t heal the wounds caused by losing a loved one beyond an almost insignificant point. Which Karin would emerge from the ashes of the old one?
He would be there to catch and care for her no matter the depth of the fall.
As he drained the coffee and immediately made another — one was never enough from a pod machine — his thoughts turned inevitably to Alicia. The free-spirited Englishwoman had stayed true to character and charged on after the battle in Hong Kong, joining her other team in an attempt to find some long-hidden Crusader gold. This was no form of disrespect intended — or even unintended — toward Komodo or Karin or the SPEAR team, it was pure Alicia Myles and her headlong quest toward self-destruction. Drake sensed the moment approaching every day and worried for whomever was near her at the time.
And, conversely, hoped it would be him.
Hoped? he thought. No, no. Worried… that was more like it. Feared. Dreaded. Was terrified of…
He laughed it off, knowing inwardly that he would help Alicia in any way he could if it came down to it. Even if he had to kill her, or himself, just to save her.
Drake made an internal call on the room’s telephone system. Almost immediately a gruff but well-manicured voice answered.
“Dahl residence.”
Drake laughed, despite everything. “We’re in a bloody hotel, you knob.”
“A well-travelled, educated man’s hotel room is his castle. The same way a Yorkshireman’s castle is the local pub.”
“Amen to that. Who needs trumpets and banquets when you can have a jukebox, a quiz and a packet of pork scratchings?”
Dahl hesitated. “Pork what? Dare I ask?”
“Probably best to let that one pass.”
A moment’s silence passed before Dahl spoke again. “Have you heard from Mai?”
Drake sighed. It was natural for the other team members to imagine he was at an all-time low and he saw no reason to enlighten them either way. “Not a thing, mate. She’s still showing Grace around Japan. Worried about the Yakuza. Spending time with Chika and Hibiki, I guess.”
“Fancy a game of table tennis?”
Drake froze and then shook his head. Did he hear that correctly? If Dahl had asked him to join him at a Frozen sing-along with the kids he’d have been less surprised. “Come again?”
“I noticed a table in the basement last night and two old bats. I’m sure we’ll be able to rustle up a ping pong ball from somewhere.”
“Okaaaay.” Still wondering if “table tennis” was a code word for something a little more dangerous and clandestine he met Dahl at the entrance to the elevator three minutes later. The Swede stood large and imposing, even clad as he was in T-shirt and cargo shorts. A smile hovered at the edge of his lips.
“So what is this really?” Drake asked. “New mission?”
“No.” The Swede looked upset. “It’s a game of fucking table tennis. If it was a new mission I’d say so.”
“You know you’re gonna get your ass kicked?”
“Oh right, I forgot. Every Yorkshireman played table tennis at the local community center when he was a kid, yeah? Winner stayed on and they had to drag him away three hours later.”